Chapter 40

And so, I’m back in the game.

Chrysalis greeted me with a hellish landscape and my new acquisition.

The Astral Bow.

A mad ritual created a localized rift in the Astral Plane, permanently binding the bow to it. The bow generates its own astral arrows, fueled by magic.

Effect: Depends on the spell type and the amount of mana channeled into the arrow. Maximum charge equals the wielder’s total mana pool. The wielder suffers backlash equal to 10% of the damage dealt.

Requirements: Out-of-tier item.

Durability: Indestructible. Damage is transferred to the bow’s owner.

I immediately wanted to test how much health I could restore at once. Wow—a single Minor Heal gives 2,360 HP, and with ten streams, nearly twenty-four thousand.

Sacrifices! I need sacrifices!

I must train my mental resistance!

Mass sacrifices were forbidden, but small-scale ritual sacrifices? No one said anything about those. And no talking—I learned that from my psychologist.

Training mental resistance is pure bliss.

Damage Taken: 185,300 (Ignored: 29,537)

66,757 / 222,520 HP

Mental Resistance +0.01%

Mental Damage Ignored: Up to 29,845/sec

I stopped wasting time maintaining stun spells for sacrifices. Experience showed that stakes were far more efficient. Now I take 22,000 damage and heal 24,000. Progress is slow. I need more fire!

My archery skill is still low—time to train. I’ll shoot healing arrows, or the backlash will kill me.

The world around me began to change. Healing affected the soil like a living thing. Plants sprouted, grass greened, flowers bloomed. In two weeks, I grew an entire grove.

Strangely, some locals stopped fighting and retreated into my forest. They just sat and rested—until they started fighting over spots near the trees.

I advanced toward the fortress. This circle of Hell was smaller than the last, and its aura denser. The closer I got, the stronger the anger and irritation gnawed at me. Training mental resistance grew harder.

My healing threshold was 176,000 HP, and my total health was effectively limitless—as long as I avoided mass sacrifices.

Two more weeks of forest-growing and stealthy movement brought me to the fourth circle’s fortress. Only the trees soothed me. The aura grew unbearable.

Damage Taken: 481,100 (Ignored: 322,676)

363,706 / 522,130 HP

Mental Resistance +0.01%

Mental Damage Ignored: Up to 333,878/sec

I was pushing my limits, recovering 59,000 HP per second. If only I could boost healing further—but that required raising Intelligence, which I wasn’t allowed to do.

What if I’d crafted a cloak or a ring instead of a bow? I wanted to test it—badly. But no.

No scrolls dropped, no potions. But I could make them.

Mother once said alchemy was an offshoot of cooking. Time to test that theory. I needed rest—this aura would kill me otherwise. Might as well grow the forest thicker.

So I shot the ground again.

Father… I miss you.

First, the forest. Then, an underground shelter. What happens when maxed-out healing magic hits fertile soil? Now I knew.

Giant trees covered a kilometer radius. Druids would’ve worshiped me for growing a forest in Hell.

No flasks, no alchemy skill—just sheer willpower. Cooking had to level up.

Eating the locals? My psychologist wouldn’t approve. But there were no non-humans here.

I survived on bark tea and herbs. Then—a crazy idea.

I made a lake.

Yes, I’m insane. The backlash nearly killed me despite my massive health pool.

First, I blasted a crater with concentrated light (it exploded at high density). Then, I filled it with water magic, melted the ice, and infused it with life. Three hours of max-charge Life Magic later, I realized: This is madness.

Fish appeared. Mother, I made fish soup!

The Astral Bow was cheating. But who else could even use it?

A peaceful month passed. I fished, trained archery, cooked.

The forest kept growing. Animals appeared—small at first, then larger. Soon, mobs filled the woods. These frugal, wasteful souls might become new Hell Elves. Their contemplative nature was perfect for it.

I spent a month hunting for Intelligence-boosting recipes. Testing potions, spices, ingredients—on myself.

Turns out, my own blood worked as a base. Bark, wood, roots, leaves, fruit, herbs, minerals, organs, bones—everything was usable.

I discovered patterns:

1. Test each ingredient’s effect.

2. Observe combinations.

3. Certain orders mattered—like boiling bones first to extract their essence before adding similar-effect ingredients.

4. Overcooking ruined effects. Timing, temperature, sequence—all critical.

Greater Intelligence Potion

- Effect: Int +20 (30 min)

Concentrated Intelligence Potion

- Effect: Int +50 (45 min)

Still not enough.

Using my blood as a base removed level restrictions. Clay pots were my only vessels.

Most ingredients stimulated the brain. I needed a catalyst—something to enhance the effect. For humans, that meant salt balance.

I dug. Found blood malachite and moon quartz. Then—a spherical salt chunk, unidentifiable.

I was right.

Malachite dissolved instantly, turning into blood. Quartz salt was stubborn but potent.

Quintessence Intelligence Potion

- Effect: Permanent Int +30

If only I had an alchemy profession bonus (+200% effect).

No more of that strange salt, but malachite worked as an enhancer.

Supreme Intelligence Potion

- Effect: Int +100 (1 hour)

Twelve months in Hell—four and a half in this circle. Two wasted. Unacceptable.

"Rage fuels me!"

The fortress loomed. The mental damage was overwhelming. Corpses everywhere, impossible to move.

Damage Taken: 801,100 (Ignored: 333,878)

363,226 / 780,130 HP

Mental Resistance +0.01%

Mental Damage Ignored: Up to 334,771/sec

I could heal 89,000 HP per second. But the rage—unbearable. Only meditation kept me sane.

Revenge.

That floating crystal in the fortress? I’ll steal it.

A month of agony. I endured only for that gem.

At the fortress walls, I aimed at the crystal. Boosted my health to 2 million via sacrifices.

Fired.

The island shattered. The crystal survived. Backlash wiped 1.5 million HP.

The island fell. The crystal flew toward me. The aura vanished.

"Come to me, my precious!"

I sank knee-deep into the ground (in demon form). Had to shatter it into eight pieces to fit in my bag.

The fortress was empty. Just stone walls.

Behind it—a gaping hole. My exit.

I jumped.